


One With Their Intentions

by MaryAnneGrey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Post-War, Pre-War, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:15:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25708039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryAnneGrey/pseuds/MaryAnneGrey
Summary: One fateful night, Hermione and Draco, Gryffindor Princess and Slytherin Prince, pureblood and muggle-born, both lost in their own ways, break down all barriers and pretend that blood purity doesn't exist.When they both realise they can actually tolerate each other's company, they agree to meet again. And again.Is this the start of something life altering? Will Hermione be able to see through Draco's defences and deter him from a life blindly following evil? Can Draco convince her that she deserves better?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, sadly. Credit goes to JK Rowling for the series, of course.
> 
> A/N: This is not the first fic I have written, but it is the first that I have published. So any sort of constructive criticism is highly appreciated.
> 
> The first part is set during Hermione's sixth year, but I'm toying with the idea of writing about their seventh year and a potential eighth year, therefore later on in the story there may be some explicit scenes. If scenes of violence, angst and a little bit of smut aren't really your thing, then thanks for stopping by but this fic may not be your cup of tea :)
> 
> Anyways, enough babbling from me, on with the story!
> 
> ~Mary-Anne xx

Hermione climbed through the hole in the stone wall, hearing the portrait swing shut softly behind her. The common room was full of people celebrating, loud music blaring from the other end of the room, and she wondered briefly how the music was playing as muggle devices wouldn't work in the castle. The rumours of a party being held in the common room were obviously correct; the rowdy students were celebrating Gryffindor's latest win on the Quidditch pitch.

She can admit to enjoying the novelty of witches and wizards flying around on broomsticks when she had first learnt about the existence of magic — she thought it amusingly ironic from a muggle perspective. But she had never really cared for Quidditch, at least not as much as her classmates, so a loud and raucous party like this was more of a disturbance of her usual routine of some studying and light reading before settling into bed.

Her eyes scanned the many bodies squashed together in the common room for Harry and Ron, _I can at least smile and congratulate them for such a good game, even with that admittedly brilliant stunt Harry pulled with the Felix Felicis._

Her gaze landed upon flame coloured hair and she started towards it automatically, until her line of sight continued to the small girl somehow attached to her friend's face. It took a second for her usually sharp brain to comprehend what was going on.

Lavender. _Ron is… snogging Lavender?_ Hermione's body had frozen in shock and disbelief. _He wouldn't, my Ron would never —_ her thoughts trailed off as she belatedly realised that there is no, and probably would never be, _my_ Ron.

Hurt and confusion and… and anger warred in the pit of her stomach, and she turned and ran back through the portrait hole, hoping no one saw the beginnings of tears as they streamed down her face.

She had never felt pain like this: an incessant, sickening throb in her gut, causing unstoppable racking sobs to shake her to her core, and the need to vomit was creeping from her stomach up her throat. Swallowing back the taste of bile, Hermione found herself in an empty classroom. She leaned against the closed door as she tried to take some calming breaths, but nothing could put an end to the dull ache in her chest.

Sitting on the nearest desk, which just so happened to be the teacher's, she pulled out her wand. _It would be wrong to hex him, it would be wrong to hex him, I'm better than that,_ the thoughts swirled around in her head like a mantra, _I will not hex him._

She needed a distraction. _Who cares if he wants to be with a superficial, giggling, dim-witted…_ Hermione stopped her very un-Hermione-ish thoughts. _How dare he! How dare he cause me this… this pain!_

Deciding to channel her rage into something more productive, she waved her wand and conjured the little yellow birds they had been practicing earlier that week. The little birds fluttered lazily in the space around her head, and she thought it a fitting image depicting her hurt and confusion over something her logical, rational mind should find so trivial.

 _If it's so trivial, why does it hurt so much?_ Hermione's subconscious taunted her. Just as she was feebly attempting to convince herself she was fine, trying and failing to stem the interminable tears evidently portraying her suffering seeping from her eyes, the door to the classroom opened. Hermione whipped her head to the doorway, her heart clenched with panic at it being him, or worse, them, and saw Harry standing there, concern in his eyes. He awkwardly shifted his weight, clearly unsure what to do or say in this kind of situation. She decided to put him out of his misery.

"Oh, hello, Harry," she said in a brittle voice. "I was just practising."

"Yeah… they're — er — really good…" Harry replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

She could just lie, she supposed, say the party was a bit too rowdy for her liking when she could be practising her charms and studying. But how would she explain her crying? Harry has always been a bit more conscious of her emotions than… him. He would know she was lying the moment she attempted it. "Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations," her voice came out unnaturally high pitched, and she inwardly winced at how silly she must sound. Harry's eyes widened, and then softened to sympathy.

"Er — does he?" said Harry. Sweet, sweet Harry.

"Don't pretend you didn't see him," she said, an edge of bitterness to her voice. "He wasn't exactly hiding it, was —?"

The door behind them burst open. To Hermione's horror, and probably Harry's too, _he_ came in, laughing, pulling Lavender by the hand.

"Oh," he said, drawing up short at the sight of them.

"Oops!" said Lavender, and she backed out the room, giggling. The door swung shut behind her, and Hermione couldn't contain her look of contempt.

Hermione felt the urge to throw up resurface, and the silence that filled the room was horrible, all-consuming, suffocating. Hermione stared at Ron, her features twisted with a murderous mixture of pain and disgust, and he had the audacity to avoid her gaze, but he said with a shocking combination of bravado and awkwardness, "Hi, Harry! Wondered where you'd got to!"

Her limbs acting of their own volition, Hermione slid off the desk. The little flock of golden birds continued to twitter around her head so that she looked like a strange, feathery model of the solar system.

"You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside," she said quietly. "She'll wonder where you've gone." Her hands shook with silent rage as she walked very slowly and erectly towards the door. Harry glanced at Ron, who was somehow looking relieved that she hadn't hexed him to oblivion.

She felt like her brain had temporarily detached itself from her body, as she saw herself turn and shriek "Oppugno!" with her wand aimed at Ron. Her expression was wild; livid. Even she slightly feared the coldness on this stranger's face, for this wasn't her at all. However she watched with a cool satisfaction as the little golden birds sped towards Ron like bullets, pecking and clawing at every bit of exposed flesh they could find as he yelped and covered his face with his hands, cowering in fear.

"Gerremoffme!" He yelled, but with one last look of vindictive fury, Hermione wrenched open the door, disappearing through it. She slammed it shut in the hopes of concealing the sound of the wracking sobs shaking her to her core.

* * *

Hermione, still plagued with sporadic bouts of tears, found herself in the library. The scent of old tomes washed over her, immediately calming her. It was apparent that she had walked the familiar route through the castle to the library so many times that her legs had absently carried her there on her own after she had fled from the classroom.

Moving through the rows of shelves, picking up the odd book and adding it to a growing pile in her arms, she made her way to her favourite set of armchairs located towards the back of the library, where she felt a sense of privacy and tranquility - two things she was desperately in need of. That, and a distraction. The various books in her arms would hopefully provide that. And technically, the library was closed for the day, but for some reason the door was not locked so she had taken that as an invitation — it meant that not even Madame Pince would disrupt her much-needed peace and quiet. She wanted to be alone to process… everything.

An odd feeling washed over Hermione, shuddering down her spine and making her pause on the way to her armchair. _Something isn't right. But, what?_

That's when she noticed them. On the small round table placed between the two armchairs rested a pile of books, when all the other tables had been cleared of any books and papers they held by students and the librarian. Realisation dawned on her when she recalled the unlocked library door. She wasn't as alone as she thought.

 _Perhaps whoever was in here has already left, and simply forgot to put their books away and lock the door again behind them._ It didn't sound plausible even in her own mind. _Well, at least it's definitely not Ron and Lavender. They wouldn't be caught dead in the library unless they really needed to be in here. No, it must be someone who wanted to study, or even read for pleasure. Maybe a fifth year preparing for their OWLs in advance…_

Without really knowing why, Hermione took a seat in her preferred chair of the two, the one right next to the window. She convinced herself that if it was a fifth year preparing for the OWLs months in advance, then perhaps she could help them study. Even though both she and this mystery person probably would rather be on their own, both for completely opposing reasons, a little company wouldn't hurt either of them. _Would provide a better distraction than books could at the moment,_ her subconscious added smugly. She gazed out at the now night sky, the stars clear and bright against their inky background. Never before had she felt so small and insignificant, her problems rendered infinitesimal when she was staring up at something much bigger and undefined than she was. She began to truly see the appeal of Astrology.

"I was right the first time; it is all so trivial," she murmured, tearing her eyes from the window to pick up the book at the top of the pile.

Only as she began to thumb through the pages, she realised that there was absolutely nothing written about Ancient Runes like the title suggested. Curious, Hermione turned to the front cover. _A Comprehensive Magical Guide to Translocation by Enid Trout._

Translocation? _None of the books I picked up were about translocation, I didn't even realise that was a topic students could study,_ she thought. Someone cleared their throat behind her. Hermione froze, her heart hammering wildly, believing a professor had found her out of bed and she would be facing detention and the removal of her Prefect badge and—

"I believe that's mine," said the smooth, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy.

Hermione, too taken aback to speak, stared up at him dumbly. Has he always been this tall? Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her, smirking at her stunned silence.

"Never thought I'd see the day: know-it-all Granger left speechless. Now, if you would remove yourself from my chair…"

Hermione was no longer startled by his presence, she was acutely aware that Malfoy was always a close second to her in their classes, therefore it wasn't really all that surprising he was in the library after hours. It was the fact he had spoken three sentences to her without the word 'mudblood' casually thrown in. It was sad to say it threw her off guard. Finally finding her voice, she said, "the library is for everyone to make use of, therefore I can sit in any vacated chair I choose."

Malfoy only smirked. "Well, technically, the library is for nobody's use after hours. Darling Granger, a rule breaker? You're probably in here doing all the hard work for one of Saint Potter's little _adventures,_ " He practically spat the last word. _Prat_.

"I could say the same to you, Malfoy, in here after hours, of all places. Shouldn't you be bullying some first years or kicking puppies with your little Slytherin court?" She countered cooly, already in a sour mood at Ron's doing, and now having to deal with Malfoy? She resolved to not move from her spot, as she wanted some quiet reading time to herself, and to just ignore Malfoy, as he had obviously come here for some quiet reading himself.

"Don't assume you know me, mudblood," he said darkly. She couldn't just ignore him. Her pride and… curiosity? wouldn't allow for it.

"Oh, I was wondering how long it would take you to say that, I was beginning to worry something was amiss, what with you acting in what could actually be called a civil manner for a bigoted prat like yourself," she retorted. "Honestly, Malfoy, are you sure you even want this chair back? Aren't you afraid I've got all of my _mudblood germs_ on it?" Her voice was beginning to raise in both volume and pitch.

Malfoy actually had the audacity to look stunned.

"What? Are you now just realising you've spent too long in my presence, and you're worried you might catch something? Afraid that actually having something akin to a conversation with a mudblood is going to somehow taint your fabulous pure blood? Well, sorry to break it to you, Malfoy, but your ideals have some flaws. If you cut me, I will bleed red blood, the same as anyone else. The same as _you._ Look, if you're not going to sit down and actually be civil towards me then just leave. I've had a bad day, and I am not in the mood to be spoken to as if I'm not worth anything," she took a deep breath and held Malfoy's gaze, his stormy grey eyes boring into her honey brown ones.

Upon closer inspection, the dark circles under Malfoy's eyes were more pronounced than usual, and his cheeks seemed hollow. His hair was not in it's normal, gelled back style; instead soft silvery strands fell across his forehead and into his eyes. His usual pristine robes were creased and ruffled. He looked… tired. Hermione thought she probably looked a little worse for wear, too. Her eyes were sore and stinging, her throat ached from all of the sobbing— but it was her heart that hurt the most.

She felt so betrayed by Ron. She thought that their friendship was blossoming into something more, perhaps even progressing to being Ron's girlfriend one day. But, of course, he didn't see her that way. He preferred silly, giggling, girlie girls: girls that liked to gossip and devoted time and effort to their appearances and knew how to flirt with boys. He liked girls that were nothing like her.

Her eyes began to well up with tears again, and she furiously swiped at them. She was not going to cry in front of Malfoy. She was _not_ — tears ran down her cheeks in streams, and she wept silently, not even bothering to swipe them away anymore. The damage had been done. Malfoy would laugh at her expense, thinking it was he who had caused her to cry so uncontrollably. She began to laugh, actually laugh, at the incredulity of it. Crying in front of Malfoy!

She put Malfoy's book carefully back on his pile so as to not get any of her tears on it. Looking up at Malfoy's face, she registered the shocked expression there and began to laugh harder. Malfoy, unmoved from the spot he had found her in, looking quite distressed, said, "Granger! Merlin, Granger, stop! How are you laughing and crying at the same time? I know it wasn't me that made you cry like this. I barely said anything to you."

Without comprehending his actions, Malfoy sat down in the armchair opposite her. Hermione managed to quiet her laugh-crying enough to look up at him through her wet lashes in disbelief. Malfoy's own expression mimicked hers. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a silk cloth and placed it silently on top of her pile of books on the small table. He picked up his book she had returned to his pile and began to thumb through it, not casting a second glance at the confused witch.

Hermione stared at the expensive-looking fabric, surveying it for any curses she most likely wouldn't put past Malfoy. It couldn't be what she thought it was. No. No way. Could it? Deciding that Malfoy has had every opportunity to curse her up to this point and hasn't, even when she was in such a vulnerable, humiliating state, cautiously, she picked it up with her pointer finger and thumb, and when she didn't spontaneously combust, she held it up for closer inspection.

There was no mistaking it for what it was. A handkerchief. An odd feeling resonated within her, for was this an act of kindness on Draco Malfoy's behalf? All of his previous words and actions towards her and her friends would suggest otherwise, but what possible ulterior motive could he have? It just didn't add up. Why would he offer her a handkerchief? If it was anyone else, she wouldn't have given it a second thought; it was a basic act of human decency and kindness, perhaps even amity, but coming from none other than Draco Malfoy, it seemed more than a little suspicious.

The handkerchief itself was quite beautiful. White late with delicate embroidery around the edges, with the occasional emerald accent in the stitching. In one corner was an embroidered flower, with a small serpent coiled around the stem. It was unexpectedly rather elegant. Hermione turned her gaze to Malfoy, who was watching her over the top of his book. When he noticed her looking at him, he cleared his throat and returned his attention to his book. Strange.

"Merlin, Granger, don't you know how a handkerchief works?" He sneered, his eyes focused on his book. Hermione carefully wiped the tears from her face, relishing the soft coolness of the material against her flushed cheeks. Her sniffles hadn't quite subsided, so she held on to the handkerchief.

"It's quite lovely, actually," she said, offering a small, nervous smile around the bout of hiccups. "Where did you get it?"

Malfoy looked uncomfortable. "Oh, sorry, I, er, didn't mean to pry or anything—" she trailed off awkwardly. She wasn't sure how to act around him. He was sitting with her voluntarily and not acting like an insufferable cockroach, and even offered what could be considered a small peace offering, even if it was just for tonight.

Suddenly, an idea struck her. It was so obvious, she didn't know why she hadn't thought of it sooner. _Because he's Draco Malfoy._ She shook off her pessimistic subconscious.

"I have a proposal," Hermione said, free of sniffles and hiccups. Malfoy looked at her expectantly. "Oh? And what's that?" He smirked wearily.

She looked at her watch. "It is currently seventeen minutes past twelve."

"Thank you so much for the update," Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Your point?"

"Well, it's Saturday tomorrow, or technically today, but that's besides the point," Hermione said. "We don't have to be awake early for any lessons tomorrow, so we have the whole night ahead of us." She's not sure what exactly compelled her to be so bold. He's Draco Malfoy. _Malfoy._ Bully. Rival. In need of a... friend?

"What exactly are you suggesting, Granger? I mean, I can understand the appeal, but I'm not sure it would be exactly appropriate — this is the library, it's _sacred_ and all…" Malfoy's smirk was the biggest she had ever seen it.

"What—? Oh, _oh_ , goodness, no!" She laughed, a genuine laugh, not a crazed tear induced laugh. "I just meant that we could just… pretend. I mean, you're still a bit of a prat, but when you're not thinking about blood purity you're actually quite… nice to be around. A welcome distraction," she paused, "Merlin knows I need one, and, not to be rude or untoward, but you look like you could use one, too."

Malfoy was surveying her curiously. Hermione took a deep breath. "We could just pretend that tonight, blood purity doesn't exist, and we are just two people existing at the same time. We can talk about absolutely anything we like, except for anything related to blood status, and I will give you my word that I will not repeat anything said between us, as long as you return the favour. Do we have a deal?" She stretched her hand in offering, making herself feel oddly exposed.

Malfoy put his book down and sat in contemplative silence. He looked at her outstretched hand with an unreadable expression, and then moved his gaze to her face, searching her red rimmed eyes for any sign of deception. She offered him a small smile; even she thought this whole thing was utterly absurd.

He took her small hand in his large one, shook once and swiftly let go. Her hand tingled slightly, his pale hand was warmer than she expected it to be, with an odd kind of rough softness; he had a fair few callouses from playing Quidditch, and his fingers were long and slender, as if they practiced deft movements regularly.

"Don't make me regret this, Granger."


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco accepted Hermione's proposal, but how will a night of acting as if blood supremacy doesn't exist actually play out? Their whole situation is very confusing, but what is even more puzzling is the fact that neither of them want to rip each other's heads off...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello, hello, hello! This is much earlier than I anticipated, but I was very excited to get this chapter up I just couldn't wait any longer.
> 
> I was over the moon with the response this story has received so far (I was not expecting as many reads as it has gathered on here and ff . net) that I was in such a good mood writing it, I included some slightly fluffier moments than what I would normally write. Now, now, before all you angst-lovers come at me brandishing virtual pitchforks, there will be more angst in future chapters, I assure you. 
> 
> Because this chapter's focus is the conversation between Draco and Hermione, I feel it is a little dialogue-heavy, just so you're all aware.
> 
> So, without further ado, here's the second chapter, enjoy :)
> 
> **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or associated characters, credit for that goes to the brilliant JK Rowling.**

Draco Malfoy thought he must be having some kind of strange, lucid dream. He had just voluntarily touched a mudblood. And not just any mudblood. Out of everyone at this pathetic excuse for a school, the one person to disrupt his reading just had to be Hermione bloody Granger, queen of all things he despised.

He knew he looked a mess; no matter how hard he tried, he could not sleep at night, and he had too much to do to waste time in the Great Hall having meals. There was just too much on his mind, so much he needed to do… and for what? Though he would never voice these thoughts aloud, or even _think_ them in the presence of his soon-to-be Lord, he was just so _tired_. Tired of it all, of the way his father, a man who he had idolised for his power and control, was made a blubbering mess in the presence of his _Lord,_ mercy to another man’s every whim. He despised it.

But he respected his father.

And believed in the cause. A world without tainted blood, where only those of true, pure magical ancestry and blood would reign supreme. Paradise.

Only stupid Granger had to open her big, holier-than-thou mouth. He must admit, she had a certain way with words; an odd kind of charm about her, which was surprising considering how insufferable she had always been. And she only confused him further when he didn’t absolutely loathe her company, as he should have.

He tried to convince himself that the sole reason for him agreeing to her company was his mind being addled from stress and lack of food and sleep. However her slumped posture and defeated expression and sheer lack of composure, even when she had evidently battled to maintain some sense of dignity, made him realise that while they will never agree on anything else, he could see that she was tired, too.

He stared at the handkerchief she had so delicately folded on top of his pile of books, frowning. Granger had folded it in such a way that the careful embroidery was on full display, and he wondered if it was intentional. She must have noticed his staring at it, because she asked, in a voice unusually small, “what does it mean?”

Draco knew instantly what she was referring to. For a brief moment, he forgot her ridiculous proposal he had blindly accepted. He surveyed her quietly, his inner Slytherin trained at searching for signs of malice or deception. She was dressed in what must have been _muggle attire_ , and he sneered inwardly at their odd fashions. Her skin seemed slightly paler than what he thought it should be, and her face was still flushed, with pink blotches high on her cheekbones from her crying outburst, and her excuse for hair was somehow bushier than usual, but had a blend of softer, more defined curls that he had no reason to notice before. Her posture and expression displayed signs of nervousness, her entire disposition seeming mainly unsure and bemused at their situation - he felt the same sense of confusion at not wanting to gouge his eyeballs out, which should have been a much preferred way to spend his time, but somehow wasn’t. But her eyes were alight with what he could only define as genuine curiosity, in what he surmised was true mudbl- _Granger_ fashion: her inherent thirst for knowledge of absolutely everything. Including him, apparently. Odd.

He surprised even himself slightly when he responded. “The flower is an amaryllis, which supposedly means determination, beauty and love,” he paused and glared at her, daring her to laugh. She only nodded, her eyes seemingly brighter, her full attention on him. “It’s also known to mean success, or pride, or a very strong and beautiful woman.”

Granger looked thoughtful, her brow furrowing slightly. “I don’t quite understand. Does this amaryllis hold any particular meaning to your family? I mean, that’s what I’m assuming it is - a symbol of the Malfoy family,” she pondered.

“Yes, you’re right in assuming that is one of the symbols of my family, but a… lesser known one,” he paused. “More of an inside joke, really,” he smirked. “The amaryllis is my mother’s favourite flower. My father gave one to her every day while they were courting, due to what the flower is supposed to represent. So, the flower represents my parents’ affections for each other, and the serpent coiled around it is a reminder that their love was founded due to the Malfoy family wanting to unite with the Black family,” he smirked, “my mother likes to think of it as she being the amaryllis and father being the serpent.”

Granger sat quietly, digesting the story. She didn’t say anything for a short while, and Draco could almost see her mind working at full speed.

“I never would have thought Lucius Malfoy would have a romantic side,” she finally said. “It’s… nice. Makes him seem more… well, human, I suppose.”

Draco was honestly surprised at her response. He had never heard anyone refer to his father, a man who presents himself as cold and subtly powerful, as _human_. And coming from Granger, who had every reason to detest his father, a proud follower of a cause very openly against mudbloods, it was a testament to her character. She cleared her throat. “I actually think I’ve heard that flower’s name before, when I was studying ancient Greece one summer,” she said, deep in thought.

“You studied ancient Greece for pleasure?” He asked, incredulous.

“Well, mainly the muggle side of it, but a lot of what I studied involved the supernatural in some way or other. Ancient Greece is a topic I would have studied in history lessons had I undergone muggle schooling, so yes, I studied that for pleasure, among other subjects I would have done in a muggle school,” she replied. “Anyway, I think the story goes that there was a lovestruck nymph called Amaryllis who declared her love for a gardener, Alteo, by piercing her heart with a golden arrow at his door every day for a month. However, Alteo wasn’t impressed by her and simply ignored her,” she chuckled lightly, “so I suppose it’s sort of ironic that your father used those same flowers to impress your mother.”

“But why would she pierce her own heart to gain his affections? I’m not all that surprised he ignored her,” he said, bemused.

Granger shifted awkwardly in her seat, and Draco raised a questioning brow. “Thank you… for, um, telling me. About your mother’s handkerchief, I mean,” she said, avoiding his gaze. Draco faltered. _How on earth did she—_ At seeing his shocked expression, she muttered, “lucky guess,” and had the _audacity_ to give a brief laugh.

They settled into an only-slightly-uncomfortable silence, with Draco finding himself… _marvelling?_ No. _Mildly_ surprised at her expanse of knowledge.

He cleared his throat. “So… _Granger,_ ” he emphasised his use of her name, and she actually smiled. Smiled! He thought it a nice contrast to her crying, although he would be caught dead before he admitted that to anyone. “How do you propose we enact your proposal?”

Another small smile graced her features, and she settled further into the overstuffed armchair, evidently more comfortable in his presence than she was a few minutes prior. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Well, _Malfoy,_ I believe we already were, just without realising,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Her simple words said so casually echoed in his mind. _Just without realising._ Those three words, those three words stated so bluntly and so… so _uncomplicated_ spoke entire volumes. The thought that he had held an actual conversation with her should’ve made him sick to his stomach. The entire notion of foolishly acting as if he wasn’t superior to her and her filthy blood should have made him feel faint. But the thought that he didn’t feel ill, the fact that he was finding he was somehow, impossibly enjoying the company of a mudblood - and not in the vile, twisted ways he had overheard from the more sadistic of the Dark Lord’s followers, almost made it worse.

He told himself he could use this opportunity to learn more about Gra— _the mudblood_ to use the information to his advantage later. Perhaps to taunt her with, or leverage against Potter… _No,_ he chided himself. _We have an agreement, and I’ll only divulge whatever secrets she may tell me if she divulges anything she’s privy to first._

“So, Granger, do tell. Why do you devote all of your time to your education? Is babysitting Potter and the Weasel not enough to occupy that brain of yours?” He wondered how she would react to the casual dig at her friends, but to his surprise she smiled sadly.

“Harry and R-Ron do not need babysitting. They know by now that stupid decisions are likely to lead to stupid, difficult situations. But I’m sure they know how to handle themselves just fine without me,” she said, an air of bitterness to her voice, and a look of contempt marring her features. “And I do not spend all of my time on my education. I’ll have you know that I dedicate time to my friends and family, and to SPEW.”

Draco was quickly realising that this girl sitting before him was practically a stranger, despite having been in classes together since they were eleven. The soft scowl on her face surprised him the most, especially when she was speaking about Potter and Weasley. Those three were known for being so inseparable. One of them had clearly done something to upset her, and he knew not to upset Hermione Granger too badly. His mind drifted back to third year, when she had punched him in the face. He smirked at the thought of Granger punching the Weasel.

“Why the sour look, Granger?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow. She looked away, blinking furiously, indignation written all over her face.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” she bit out.

He smirked. “Now, now, Granger, I believe you’re somehow forgetting who you’re talking to. I am not Potter or Weaselbee; I have enough presence of mind to know that when a woman says she’s fine she is actually anything but. So, which one was it?”

She finally looked at him, the pale moonlight illuminating the sadness in her eyes. “Which one? What do you—”

“You know full well what I mean, Granger. You can’t be the _brightest witch in our year_ and not know that I’m asking if it was Potter or Weasley that upset you,” he remarked.

She paled considerably. “How did you know—”

“Lucky guess,” he interjected, smirking triumphantly. “Now, do tell, Granger. It must be something terrible, to upset you so much.”

Granger paused, considering her options. He knew what was running through her mind. _If I tell him, will he use it against me? Will he laugh in my face at my sadness?_ He somehow knew that he wouldn’t.

“If I…” she sighed. “If I tell you what happened, you have to swear on your life that you will not tell a soul. Or so help me God, Malfoy, you will regret the day you were born.”

Draco blanched at the severity in her voice. He had been at the receiving end of her anger before, and this seemed more promising than that. Ensuring his aloof, aristocratic façade was firmly in place, he rolled his eyes. “I swear on my life. Anything else, Granger?”

As if she were expecting his question, she responded: “I want you to learn about SPEW.”

“SPEW?” Draco replied, incredulous. “Isn’t that when you were making those awful hats in fourth year like a woman possessed?”

“Yes.”

Draco groaned. “Alright.” _I’m going to regret this._

Granger sighed and slumped in her chair. She began in a small voice, “it was Ron who upset me.” Draco sat forward in his chair. _Oh? Has Weaselbee finally pushed Granger over the edge?_

“He… er— well…” she blushed. Granger, blushing?

“Spit it out, Granger, we only have a few hours,” he said, feigning disinterest.

“He kissed Lavender,” she said, and sighed. _Who the bloody hell is Lavender?_ “It doesn’t even sound that bad, I mean it’s not like we’re… _together_ or anything. He’s well within his right to kiss whichever skank he—” she cut off abruptly, turning beet red. Granger sheepishly covered her face with her hands and chuckled nervously. Draco was stunned into silence. He had an inkling that this was a side of Granger never before seen by anyone else.

“I don’t know why I said that, I didn’t mean it, obviously. Perhaps I did when I said it in the heat of the moment, but, Merlin, I’m better than that,” she rambled. Draco just laughed. “Merlin, Granger, I’ve called girls worse names than that and never felt remorse. Not once! Especially the Slytherin girls that shamelessly throw themselves at me for my family’s money. Oh, I doubt any girl that’s thrown herself at me like that actually _likes_ me. Only their perception of me, so I have absolutely no trouble referring to them as such,” he frowned, then shook his head.

“Honestly, Granger, don’t let the Weasel bother you. He probably doesn’t even realise what he’s done, he’s that thick. How you could like him like that is honestly beyond me. I would rather give up my inheritance than pine after a Weasley,” he shuddered.

“I am not pining after him!” she said indignantly, removing her hands from her face.

“Oh, really? You could of fooled me, Granger, I must say,” he smirked.

“You’re wrong, Malfoy. I do not while away the hours pining after someone who is very clearly not interested in me, or even someone remotely like me. If Ron prefers silly, insubstantial girls over me then that is not my problem, that is his,” she huffed, glaring at him.

He smirked. “Are you quite finished? I must say I almost feel sorry for the Weasel.”

She raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

“Hell hath no fury like Granger scorned.”

* * *

Hermione was utterly baffled, in very un-Hermione-ish fashion. Malfoy and pleasant are not two words she would ever associate with each other, but tonight happened to be an exception for a lot of things.

He hadn’t let even one slur about her blood status pass since he had agreed to her proposal, and had actually listened to her when she had spoken about things she cared about, which was more than she could say for Ron sometimes. She could always tell that when she was speaking about a topic that she had studied and found really interesting, he would sometimes zone out completely when her words went beyond his level of understanding.

She didn’t have that problem with Malfoy. Somehow, conversation just flowed naturally between them, and blood status aside, they had quite a lot in common. It was a night full of surprises, and Draco Malfoy was the biggest one yet - or the fact that she felt soat ease in his presence was what truly bewildered her.

“—and then when the peacock started chasing Blaise, he tripped in his haste and nearly fell face first into Theo’s vomit!” Malfoy howled with laughter, actual _laughter_ , his stormy grey eyes crinkled in mirth. Hermione was still confused as to _why_ this peacock was so angry, and was still taken aback by the thought of Malfoy having a white peacock, that she thought it better not to ask, and just laughed along with him. But, like in previous instances when either of them had truly let their guard down like that, Malfoy quickly sobered up; almost as if he remembered whose company he was in. The way his eyes, still shining with unshed tears of laughter, met hers, silently telling of his confusion, proved he was utterly baffled by their situation, too.

They sat in an almost comfortable silence for a little while, neither of them knowing what to say. It was Malfoy who broke the silence.

“Granger?” he began, uncharacteristically unsure.

Hermione studied him, and began to understand why those Slytherin girls threw themselves at him so blatantly. She would be caught dead before she admitted this, but it was clear that Malfoy was not unattractive, by any means. His platinum blond hair was almost iridescent in the moonlight that shone through the diamond-paned window, and his pale skin was smooth and flawless, like marble. If it wasn’t for the dark circles plaguing his under-eyes and his cautious, weary mien, he could easily have been mistaken for a marble statue. He was tall, but not gangly or awkward like Harry and Ron. He had a slim frame, most likely composed of wiry muscle from years of Quidditch. And, of course, the shallow Slytherin girls who shared his… ideals would likely have been mainly attracted to his family’s wealth and affluence. For that reason, Hermione actually pitied him. It must be difficult to make true friends or form real relationships when people only wanted to become close to him for his inheritance.

She shook her head, clearing away her thoughts and turned her attention to Malfoy, who had his one eyebrow raised in a look of perfected aristocracy.

“Enjoying the view, Granger? I am known to have a certain effect on women,” he smirked in true Malfoy fashion. Hermione blushed, and cursed her body for having that unwanted reaction. Malfoy only smirked more, if that was even possible. _Stupid Malfoy._

“No, I’m simply concerned over your current state of health, Malfoy. Forgive me for saying this, but you look awful,” she paused, and could tell by Malfoy’s posture that he had put his defences firmly in place. “Look, we will probably never speak like this again. When this night is over, in just shy of an hour, now, we will revert back to throwing casual insults at each other and you will sneer at my blood status again. It will be as if tonight never happened. So please, whatever it is that is taking up so much of your time and focus and making you have a complete disregard for your well being - sort it out quickly so you can take care of yourself. And I’ll know if you don’t, and carry on in this… this _state_ , because I’ll keep an eye out for you at mealtimes,” she took a deep breath, and when Malfoy’s defensiveness began to morph into anger and he went to interrupt her, she held up a hand. “Save whatever retort you have, Malfoy, because no, I do not know whatever it is you’re going through and therefore cannot possibly understand,” she smirked inwardly in triumph as Malfoy’s eyes widened in blatant shock and he slumped in his chair.

“I get it. We’re completely different people and have completely different problems. But I do understand what it’s like to have a difficult problem you have to solve, and I know that you can spend so much time dedicated to solving it that you accidentally skip a meal or two,” she sighed. “Just promise me, Malfoy. Promise that you’ll go to the Great Hall tonight for dinner and that you’ll get some sleep afterwards. Promise that you won’t hold your well being in such disregard.”

He studied her, his silver eyes almost penetrating her brown. Finally, after an internal war, he succumbed and muttered, “I promise.”

Hermione searched his face for any signs of dishonesty, but found none, and nodded to herself. _At least some good has definitely come from this strange night._

“What was it you were going to say? Before, I mean,” Hermione asked, changing the subject. She noticed light blues and soft pinks beginning to streak across the lightening sky. Their night was drawing to a rapid close. _Why on earth is that… disappointing?_

Malfoy looked away from her gaze and stared out the window. His face was illuminated by the changing colours of the sky, and his mouth was downturned slightly.

“The sun will rise soon,” he said, and Hermione wasn’t sure if it was meant to be said aloud.

“What do you think will happen when it does rise?” He turned to face her suddenly, his gaze intense.

“We revert back to how it was before,” she paused. “But— I don’t think I’ll be able to. Not completely.”

He sighed and faced the fast approaching sun. “Me neither,” he admitted. “You’re not just a filthy little mudblood anymore. Believe me, I tried convincing myself that you were. I mean, you’re still a mudblood, of course, but…” he sighed.

“But I’m also Granger. And you’re not just an insufferable pureblooded ferret that gets a sick enjoyment out of bullying others. You still are, but you’re also Malfoy. A boy that loves riding his broom around the grounds of his manor, who enjoys spending time with his friends, who likes broccoli florets but hates the stalks, who can stay up all night if he has a good book,” she took a deep breath, “a boy who loves his mother and respects his father— a boy who’s terrified of losing them, for whatever reason. You are all of those things, and I can’t just unlearn them for the sake of keeping up appearances.”

Hermione knew she may have crossed a line, but though it was completely strange and utterly unorthodox and Harry and Ron would absolutely hate her for it: she considered Draco Malfoy something akin to a friend now.

“So where does this leave us? It’s not like I can just stop calling you names overnight, people will be suspicious. And it’s not…” he struggled for words. “… _safe_ to be close to me, at least not right now. I _knew_ this was a bad idea, but, sweet Merlin I did not anticipate this to be the reason why.” He laughed without humour.

Hermione thought for a moment, aware of the sun rising steadily on the horizon. “We can meet here, at night,” she spoke quickly, conscious of their time running out. “Perhaps not every night, but we could find some way to inform each other when we can. Or maybe even during the day, on the weekends, when everyone’s at Hogsmeade and the castle’s practically empty, we could find time to study together and—”

“Granger.”

“—maybe even by the lake—”

“Granger.”

“…I don’t want to give this up. Whatever this is, so we will just have to—”

“Granger!”

She stopped her babbling and looked up at him, and saw a curious mixture of humour and sadness in his eyes. “What?”

“Breathe.” She obliged reluctantly and took a deep breath. “Now, I will just throw a ball of parchment at your head in lessons when the professor isn’t looking on days that we can meet like this. We can study together on weekends when the library is empty. Because, for some strange,strange reason I actually… enjoy your company, so we will try to make this… whatever this is… work. Somehow. Alright?”

She took another deep breath and nodded, absorbing his words.

“We have to go, now. The sun’s risen and we need to get back to our dormitories before people start waking up. We’re both still in yesterday’s clothes and need to change to not arouse any suspicion. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Malfoy, I’m not an idiot. This whole situation is just a million different kinds of odd,” she said. A sudden thought struck her. “Malfoy?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you be at breakfast? You clearly need to eat something.”

He rolled his eyes. “If only to shut you up, yes, fine, I’ll be there.” Malfoy stood from his chair and stretched, yawning. Hermione gathered her pile of books that she surprisingly did not touch once throughout the course of the night and got up from her chair. She made her way through the shelves and put the books back, making a mental note of the interesting-looking ones to borrow officially later in the day.

Making her way back to the armchairs, she saw Malfoy bend to gather his books in his arms. She made another mental note to ask him about them sometime.

She realised belatedly that she was stood very close to him, and as she moved to take a step back from him, he straightened rather abruptly, and bumped into her. In Hermione’s haste to scramble away from him, her foot caught around the leg of the small table and she went tumbling to the ground. It all happened very quickly: Malfoy deliberated for a split second before reaching out to stop her descent, however that moment’s hesitation was all it took for Hermione to be too far gone.

When Malfoy landed on top of her, Hermione was briefly confused. It was only when she realised that Malfoy still had his hand caught on her sleeve that she had unintentionally dragged him down with her. Malfoy’s hand was right next to her face; he had managed to break his fall and it was the sole reason his weight was not currently crushing her. Heat blossomed over her cheeks as she turned to face him, only to discover their faces mere inches apart.

“Bloody hell, Granger, this is a bit soon, isn’t it? I would not have pegged you as that type of girl, but honestly this whole night has been full of surprises so far that I’ve decided not to question anything anymore—”

Without thinking, Hermione kneed him in the groin. _Ah, sweet, sweet revenge._ Malfoy groaned and rolled off from his position on top of her, clutching his precious family jewels.

“I do apologise, Malfoy, but you _did_ linger. And I suppose one could argue it has been a long time coming, for everything you’ve said to me and most likely _about_ me in the past,” Malfoy groaned again. “Really, Malfoy? I didn’t hit you that hard, surely.”

She stood up, and brushing herself off, she offered a hand to Malfoy. He eyed it warily, before reluctantly accepting. Hermione helped pull him up off the floor, and Malfoy glared at her. “Merlin, woman, I was _joking!_ ” Hermione simply laughed.

“Hurry up, Malfoy, we’ve wasted enough time as it is,” she said, checking her watch. “It’s past seven now, people are going to be awake!”

“Honestly, Granger, you need to calm down,” Malfoy smirked. “If you carry on looking this flustered, it’s just going to make everything worse.”

_I hate when he’s right._ Hermione calmed herself down, running her fingers through her mass of curls that probably resembled a bird’s nest after a whole night awake. She yawned loudly. “I think I need to have a nap,” she chuckled. Hermione looked at Malfoy sternly. “And I’ll see you at breakfast in an hour or two, mister,” she pointed a finger at him. Malfoy nodded, eyes wide in mock fear. Hermione couldn’t help but look rather pleased with herself; she enjoyed taking care of people.

“Well, Malfoy, shockingly enough, it has been a pleasure getting to know you,” Hermione smiled.

“You’re alright for a mu— muggle-born, I suppose."

* * *

When they parted ways, Hermione had the chance to process her shock. Malfoy had refrained from using the word mudblood! Multiple times, at that.

She did not expect her life to take such an unexpected turn. Never in a million years would she thought that grief and anger fuelled trip to the library after hours would result in a… friendship? Is that what this was? With _Draco Malfoy_ , of all people.

Her little experiment had interesting, completely unprecedented results. Blood purity aside, it was possible for her and Malfoy to not only be completely civil with each other, but actually get along perfectly well.

She muttered the password to the Fat Lady and pushed open the portrait door, entering the common room. Completely worn out after a whole night awake, Hermione yawned and staggered bleary-eyed towards the stairs leading to the dormitories. Just as she reached the bottom step, a familiar voice called out, “Hermione?”

Heart in her throat, she turned slowly towards the speaker.

Concern was blatantly etched across Ginny’s face. She rose from her seat on the sofa and crossed the room towards the other witch. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yes, of course. Just tired,” Hermione responded.

Ginny looked at her suspiciously and raised a skeptical brow. “You just missed Lavender and Parvati,” she said, watching her closely. “They said they never saw you in your dorm room last night. I just brushed them off, I had a feeling you were upset over my git of a brother and wanted to be alone last night, and would’ve gone to bed when everyone else was already asleep. But, here you are, coming back in the morning after what appears to be all night gone,” she paused and placed her hands on Hermione’s shoulders. “You’re like a sister to me, ‘Mione. I just want to know you’re okay.”

Hermione took a deep breath and smiled softly. “I appreciate your concern, really, Ginny, but I’m fine. Honestly. I was a bit… emotional last night after I witnessed Ron’s tongue down Lavender’s throat, so I went to the library to calm down,” she confided.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “You went to the library after hours?”

“Yes, so I would be thankful if you kept that to yourself,” Hermione chuckled. _Smooth._ “I did some thinking and some light reading, and I must have dozed off at some point because I woke up and it was light outside. That’s it.” The red-headed witch nodded, believing her lie.

“Good, because I’m starving,” Ginny laughed. “Go get dressed so we can have breakfast. I’ll wait here for you.”

Hermione gave a strained smile. _So much for a quick nap._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And so the plot thickens...
> 
> Chapter Three should be up by next week!
> 
> Until next time :)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The second chapter should be up by the end of next week, all being well.  
> Have a great week, I'll see you in the next chapter! :)


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